Like trains passing in the night...

For my first post, I thought I would share a recent experience I had traveling by train from Milwaukee to Dallas. Firstly, such a journey though frequent for me is not usually something I attempt via train. The ride turned out to be different in more that just the means of conveyance.

I was comfortably ensconced and reclined in my large Amtrak chair with no nearby neighbors, the closest being a quiet guy about my own age a few rows down, with whom I had exchanged a few meaningless words. I was in the process of drifting away amongst the whirs and gentle rocking of the train while a faint glow from the next seat illuminated a recently read passage from the Wasteland. Awakened by a figure and the absence of movement, I only half caring ruminated why she was placing her bags above my head. (there were more than ample open rows) I cleared room in case, but the figure passed and I awakened and renewed my attentions to T.S. Elliot. Hearing noise again, I broke from the text to see... beauty. Older than I by a bit, with dark hair, and vivid (green?) eyes. Her clothes tried their best to accentuate her figure, but they fell short of its closer approximation to the ideal.

Surprised, and more so for her choice of seats, I acted as I thought proper. I minded my own business. She proceeded to flip through her own choice of reading materials, a novel, it appeared, which brought a faint unconscious smile to my face. I always feel a kinship to those few who still dared to read in a public setting. Somehow I get the same premonition of odd stares in my direction while reading as I do in more audacious pursuits like juggling in public. Book-lovers these days I feel get the same sort of reaction though milder, as circus freaks. It was then that I realized, taking furtive glances at the content, that I could not read this book. German? No... Czech?? There was a long silence, a train silence, made awkward with those same bumps that before lulled to sleep, and now conspired to bring two strangers into contact. Did I mention that she (as I find many of the beautiful people do) had a look of scorn at the corners of her visage. I image this now to be unconscious, so as to not accidentally and unwontedly enthrall some poor sop, I guess it was a perpetual harsh kindness.

However time returned me to my musings on the lyric in front of me, until a moment unexpected. The beauty spoke. Small at first, where from where to and the like. Her accent helped confirm foreign Czech indeed. I'm afraid the details mostly escape, insofar as they are details, but the flow was gradual from trickle to torrent of words, in the Queen's English of sorts, (her teacher was from England and taught naught else) Is it odd that I nearly forgot what I was saying in wonder at when this unprovoked act of civility would stop? The answer was that it didn't, it wouldn't. She wished to move into the nursing field, for which she was saving. So I already went to college? Where? What for? ..and on. But suddenly, unexpectedly, we were no longer two stranger conversing stiltedly (well perhaps a little due to the accent) but rather running a gamut over all aspects of life, relationships, politics, education. I spouted a little rant about our overlong period of education, that makes overgrown adolescents of us all, which was oddly well received.

I'm sure this might all be boring to a reader, but for me at the time it was like finding a flower midwinter (or in that awful decayed industrial scenery outside). Here she was, and here it was a real human connection, on an Amtrak train.

At a pause, it seemed that the logical course of action would be to return to our reading. That is when she said. "Would you like to grab a few drinks with me in the lounge?" If you knew me reader, you would know that these were words that would never fight their way out of my awkward mouth. I did dimly enough think this to mean more than face value. I was struck by the thought that I was about to go on a date. (At my college one was careful not to use the D-word, a "date" would transform through gossip into marriage and 4 kids)

At least something must have come out of my short visits in Europe, a little style rubbed off I think. Out of character I replied "that would be lovely! (yes, perhaps too effeminate, but she had already taken the lead in this dance) I was thinking the same thing!" (I was thinking about a drink, more so to calm my head.) So she led the way, stopped for an exquisitely uncomfortable yet proud trip at the necessities. (I wonder if not on purpose) I don't think it was quite my imagination that people were staring, she was older than I, more attractive than I, and had thoughtfully linked arms a moment to accentuate the situation.

Could I truly be blamed that I half serious half jesting to myself imagined some intricate scam being played upon me, or some inconceivable joke? I am not well know for my charm...
Yet I felt charming, if by proxy that evening. We bought a half bottle of wine Cabernet at my choice, and cheese and crackers. (How did she make train snacks seem romantic?) Somehow my sense of uneasiness concerning her intentions faded as she attempted to pay for the lot (of course one couldn't let her). Sitting side by side being fed cheese and crackers, and poured wine; the words again fed into a frenzy, and the conversation poured forth. It was then I learned more serious matters; She was 5 years dating 1 year engaged to a young man who left her, since he would not face his parents. Tears half filled her eyes. She explains she is a Dancer. At first I did not understand. (Nor do I now know what sort and degree of dancer she was.) We moved on to a performance my friends were to be in the following day. She hated performing. We talked more quietly on, as she had bared a great secret, and could not cheer or chat as much anymore.

Back in our seats, she sighs, leans in, places her head on my shoulder and shares, a silent, uncomplicated moment. Poetic, I would say natural, human. Sharing her music with me, one ear phone to each and brought closer, sharing her tastes in music. Slumped over on me she slept, clasping my left in her hands my other resting on her shoulder. On my lap she lay, I out of my usual comfort zone, but for a moment, but then it seemed...right. And we dozed, she saying sweet somethings half heard, and we smiled.

Her stop was in St. Louis, halfway. And so, I walked her out to her stop. She gazing skyward said, "Wherever I go, the snow follows me." We walked in those reluctant snow-flakes, expressed regrets, I swear with tears about to drop.
A number.
A kiss.
A good-bye.